Marge Dursley Comes to Dinner
by CinderellaAtTheBall
Summary: Petunia finally meets her sister-in-law.


_Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 8: __**Foreign Exchange, Task #3: write about being tested by someone or something. **_

**MC4A**

**Stacked with:** Hogwarts

**Individual Challenge(s):** Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Old Shoes; Ways to the Heart; Feeling So Logical (presentable); Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux

**Representation(s):** Dursleys; Petunia Dursley

**Bonus Challenge(s):** FPC (Not a Lamp); BAON; ER (A Long Dog); Cluster (Getting On); ToS; Fence; MLG

**Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s):** O3 (Orator)

**Word Count:** 1,875

_Quick note: In case it isn't obvious, Dudley hasn't been born yet. The Dursleys have only been married for a little over a year here, and since Dudley and Harry were born in the same year, I imagine Petunia and Vernon were married a little longer before they had children, unlike James and Lily. _

* * *

**Marge Dursley Comes to Dinner**

Petunia finished putting the finishing touches on the first floor rooms of number four, Privet Drive at a quarter to five. The rugs were freshly vacuumed, the stainless steel appliances were flawless, and she had spent half an hour scrubbing the kitchen floor until it gleamed. She had also put out the nicest decor they owned — a vintage vase, their good crystal, and even an expensive painting she had commissioned for their one-year wedding anniversary that normally hung in their bedroom. Vernon's sister was due for dinner on the hour, and everything had to be perfect for her.

She wasn't particularly excited to meet Marge. From the way Vernon talked about her, it was as if the sun shone out of her arse. Petunia didn't think the other woman could be _that_ great. If she was, how had Petunia not met her before? She had tried asking Vernon and all he would say was, "Marge is very busy with those dogs of hers."

Petunia had shuddered at those words. She could not comprehend how Vernon's sister could stand to be around dogs all day. Apparently — and this was the part that made her feel faint just thinking about it — Marge lived with twelve dogs. _Twelve! _She was certain the woman must live in filth. At least Vernon shared _her_ view on dogs. She supposed she wouldn't have married him if he hadn't.

...

The clock struck five, and Marge was nowhere to be seen.

"She's late," Petunia pouted. The evening was not off to a good start, as far as she was concerned.

Vernon smiled placatingly at her. "She'll be here soon enough, Petunia, dear. Perhaps she had a bit of trouble finding the place."

Petunia sniffed. If she had been going to visit her sister — not that she had any inclination to, of course — _she_ would have looked up the route in advance and made sure she knew exactly how to get to...wherever people like her sister lived.

"Perhaps," was all she said in response. "Still, the hors d'oeuvres are going to get cold."

She didn't add that she had spent hours in the kitchen making the little puff pastries and pigs in a blanket. Vernon didn't care about any of that. He only cared that the food would be cold.

She heard Vernon move from the sitting room to the front entryway, but she remained in her spot by the kitchen window, continuing to peer out onto the front sidewalk.

"I think that's her!" Vernon said suddenly, wrenching the door open.

Indeed, a taxi had just pulled up in front of the house, and Petunia watched as her husband helped Marge out of the vehicle. Her first impression was that Marge was a very large woman, physically her opposite in every way. That made sense given Vernon's size, however. Her second impression was that she was not going to like her sister-in-law. She dressed well enough, but without the same care that Petunia put into her own appearance. Her hair was clearly thinning, for Heaven's sake!

Petunia hurried to the door, patting down her hair as she did so. A quick examination of her outfit — a sensible black dress, pearl necklace, and low heels — revealed nothing out of place. "Welcome," she said, beckoning Vernon and Marge, who had by that time reached the door, inside. "Let me take your coat for you, Marge."

The other woman shrugged it off and thrust it at her. "You must be Petunia." She looked around at the magazine-ready house and added, "This is a beautiful home."

"Thank you," Petunia responded. She quickly hung up the jacket and turned back to her sister-in-law with her hand extended. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Marge."

Marge's hand was beefy and warm. "Likewise, Petunia," she boomed. Petunia could see the resemblance to her brother in both appearance and speaking habits.

She led Marge and Vernon into the sitting room and left to fetch the plates of hors d'oeuvres. When she returned, the two were deep in conversation about their father's ailing health. She cleared her throat and held out the food. "Can I interest you in a puff pastry, Marge? Or perhaps a pig in a blanket?"

Marge grabbed a napkin from the coffee table and carefully selected three pastries, along with two pigs in a blanket. "Don't mind if I do," she grinned, popping one into her mouth. Petunia tried not to let her disgust show. Surely this woman had heard of eating daintily? She hadn't said "thank you," either — and she was a guest in someone else's home! Petunia could hardly believe the audacity.

She took a deep breath to compose herself. It wouldn't do to get upset and cause a scene. "Vernon?" she asked, turning towards her husband. "Puff pastry?"

Vernon took three as well. "These look delicious, Petunia."

She set down the plates without taking any food for herself. "So, Marge," she said, perching on the edge of an armchair, "what is it that you do, exactly? Vernon tells me you raise dogs?"

"Breed 'em, actually," Marge corrected. Her mouth was full of food, so Petunia steadily fixed her gaze on a spot just beyond her head instead of looking directly at her. Her sister-in-law swallowed and went on. "It's a fulfilling career, you know. A fulfilling career indeed."

Petunia nodded absently. It wasn't as though she would know anything about having a career. She was perfectly content to be a housewife. "I'm glad to hear that," she said politely, smoothing down her dress. "Excuse me. I should check on our dinner."

She stood and crossed into the kitchen, but not before she heard Marge say, "Bit skinny, isn't she, Vernon?"

...

Dinner was going reasonably well. Petunia continued to be the consummate host by refilling wine glasses, laughing at Vernon's jokes, and asking questions of Marge, who was only too happy to answer. It was clear that she, like her brother, had a gift for gab. It got to the point where Petunia decided she ought to stop making so many inquiries, lest the woman remain in their house all night, talking.

"Can I tempt you with some more pasta, Marge?" At least that was a safe question.

Marge patted her stomach. "Oh, no, I don't think I can eat any more, Petunia. This was lovely. Vernon, you're a lucky man!"

Vernon leaned over and kissed Petunia's cheek sloppily. "I really am."

Petunia resisted the urge to immediately wipe her face. Instead, she pasted on a smile and asked, "More pasta for you, dear?" He nodded, and she spooned a generous helping onto his plate. As he dug in, she discreetly blotted her cheek with her napkin.

"Now, Petunia," Marge said loudly, "when can I expect some nieces and nephews from you?"

Petunia almost dropped her napkin in shock. The topic of children was not appropriate for the dinner table! However, she knew that Vernon would have a fit if she scolded his beloved sister, so she merely forced a laugh and said that they would have to keep her posted. Marge seemed as though she wanted to press the matter further, but Vernon thankfully steered her toward the topic of Grunnings, which she had plenty to say about.

"They work you too hard, you know, Vernon," she said, waving her hand wildly in the air. She seemed not to have noticed that she had pasta sauce on her mouth. "I'd have asked for a raise ages ago."

Petunia raised an eyebrow and took a generous sip of wine. It was all well and good for Marge to believe in raises. _She_ was just thankful that Vernon had a well-paying job.

After several more minutes, during which time Marge and Vernon debated the merits of asking for a raise, Petunia stood and moved towards the kitchen once more. She had made a beautiful apple pie for dessert, and she hoped that by serving it now, she could hurry Marge's visit along a little. She found the woman quite grating, and so wholly unlike herself that she did not foresee them ever becoming friends. Though she was still determined to be pleasant to her for her husband's sake, she would be immensely glad when she was gone.

"I hope you like apple pie," she said, hurrying back into the dining room with a stack of dessert plates and the pie tin.

Marge all but snatched up a plate and held it out. "If it's anything like your dinner, I would love some."

Vernon patted her shoulder. "It's delicious, Marge. You're in for a real treat!"

Petunia served them both hefty slices before taking a sliver of one for herself.

Marge had already helped herself to a large bite. "God," she said, spraying Petunia's favorite tablecloth with crumbs, "that is good. Petunia, you have _got_ to share this recipe with me, you hear? Write that down!"

It took all of Petunia's self-restraint not to snap at her for talking with her mouth full. "Of course," she instead said primly, taking a small bite out of her own slice.

"Wonderful," Marge grunted.

...

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but had in reality been only two hours, it was time for Marge to leave. Petunia handed her back her coat and flashed her a cloying smile. "This was lovely, Marge. We simply must do this again sometime." She didn't tack on the word "soon," though she knew that was the polite thing to do, because she didn't want her sister-in-law to get any ideas. One evening with the woman had been enough for quite a while.

"Definitely," Vernon agreed, settling a hand on her shoulder.

Petunia pressed a piece of paper into Marge's hand. "Here's the apple pie recipe."

Marge acknowledged the gesture with a nod before turning to her brother. "Well, take care, Vernon." She pulled him in for a brief hug and several loud smooches. When they broke apart, Vernon's face was red.

"Take care, Marge," he said quickly, ushering her out the door. "Keep in touch."

Marge pinched his cheek fondly. "I most certainly will."

Vernon walked her out to the waiting taxi while Petunia took the opportunity to sink down onto a kitchen chair. She had survived her first meeting with Marge, and it hadn't been _completely_ terrible. Still, she would need ample time to recuperate and plan for the next visit. She would definitely not be using her favorite tablecloth again, for example.

Vernon plodded into the kitchen and beamed at her. "You outdid yourself tonight, Petunia."

Petunia smiled wanly back at him. "Thanks, dear. Now, get out of those clothes — I'll stay down here and clean up."

Vernon was only too happy to go upstairs and leave her to load the dishwasher, straighten furniture, and sweep up stray crumbs, but she didn't mind. The routine was comforting to her, and after a whole evening of being the perfect, doting wife, she was glad to let the facade slip temporarily. She would put it back up again when she headed up to bed, she knew. For now, however, she was just Petunia Dursley, née Evans, and she didn't have to answer to anyone but herself.


End file.
